a whisper in the wind | ✓

seven

ON MY THIRD NIGHT AT EVENTYDE ISLAND, CLARK AND I GO ON AN ADVENTURE.

And by adventure, I mean taking baby Peach back to his mother, who Clark believes is far from home. Hopefully, he and I will come back in one piece. But then again, if being eaten by a troll means not having to worry about my tragic future, then maybe I'm looking at a win-win situation.

"There's a, uh, leaf in your hair." This is the first thing Clark says when I meet him at the other end of the forest. He's already found little Peach, who's comfortably cuddling in his arms, bandage now gone and a fresh pink scar across his leg.

Embarrassed, I pat down my hair to find it, and when I can't, he chuckles before offering help.

"Here, I can get it if you want." He waits for my consent, and with a delicate touch that brings the warmth of a thousand golden suns, he gently pulls out the dead leaf before letting it drop to the ground. A soft smile tugs at his lips, brown eyes housing flecks of sunflower.

Question: how hard can you crush on someone in the span of three days? I'm asking for a friend, of course.

Peach leaps down from Clark's arms and trots over to the right of the forest. He intently sniffs the ground before sitting near a tree.

Glancing away, I clear my throat to ease the tension. "I think he wants us to follow him."

Clark crouches down in front of the fox. "Is your home through there, bud?"

The fox releases an adorable squeak as he jumps again. He digs his claws into the ground before turning around and darting into the forest, a trail of neon blue paw prints, the same color as the tips of his ears, glowing behind him.

"Did — did you know he could do that?" I nudge Clark with my elbow. "He's never done that before."

He looks just as stunned. "I had no idea."

What the fuck is this place?

Following Peach throughout the forest is easy thanks to his glowing trail. To be honest, I'm not even entirely sure if he knows where the hell he's going, but I'm trusting Clark's confidence in the fox.

It doesn't take long for the two of us to fall into a conversation about our childhood. I tell him the story of how I kicked a classmate in fourth grade during recess because of his racist comments. I also mention how my very first relationship only lasted thirty minutes after discovering that my "boyfriend" was a total cry-baby. I was in kindergarten.

Clark laughs and shakes his head in disbelief. "You're brutal."

In return, he tells me about the time when he was ten and played basketball with his brother, Daniel. Throughout their childhood, Clark felt like Daniel didn't particularly care about spending time with his little brother. The only time he ever did was when he would ask Clark to play basketball in their driveway. And by "play," he meant making the younger fetch the ball whenever it rolled onto the street or across the lawn. But Clark didn't mind. He says as long as he was able to spend time with his cool older brother, it didn't matter what they were doing.